Thursday, March 14, 2013

Excuses, prize (book or chocolate) and new end date

I've asked the other Blue Rose Girls, and the contest now has a prize and lasts longer:

the prize is the BRGs book of your choice, signed and of course mailed to you OR chocolate, dark or milk, also your choice.....if you want to stay anonymous, you can still enter -- if you win, just email us your name, address and prize choice.

the new end-date is April 1.

Send us your 50 word story as a comment -- all (or maybe I should say, ANY! -- it's two days and no one has entered anything) entries will then be posted all together so readers can vote. The winner will be announced on the blog.

How long does it take to write 50 words???? When my friend emailed ME about the contest, my first reaction was to start an email explaining why I couldn't....my second was just to write the damn thing.

That took less time than the excuse.

Perhaps I can extrapolate? I can and will -- and even if no one enters the contest, something good will have come out of it for me (if I remember this the next time I am telling myself why I can't write).

17 comments:

Anonymous
said...

This is not a 50-word story - it's just a comment about writing and about how we approach our dreams. So many of us dream of writing for a living.... I know the BRG are actually living that dream - but for each BRG there are a good few million of us who aren't!!! Many of us sit in the bath and daydream about how lovely it would be..... yet, if your dream was to become a basketball player you'd get out and train: practise and practise some more! So, I'm taking inspiration from this 50-word challenge and getting on with it - little by little. Some day.....

"Worry never goes away," Mama said to Sophie. Sophie didn't understand. "Unless you're grateful," Mama added. So Sophie made a list. Birds. Blueberries. Wind. Whirligigs. Before Sophie could finish, Mama had made a grateful list of her own starting with the name of her girl. Sophie.

50 Word Story that might have something to do with drama and an island of sorts.

Two black cats, boxing at midnight. Two against one frantically squeaking mouse. The mouse is battered from playful paws. The cats aren’t hungry; the mouse darts under the kitchen island. The best cat toys are the ones that move. The cats forfeit when the mouse surrenders; exhaustion wins the mouse’s life.

He walked alone. Fall leaves fell behind him creating shadows that played with his mind. Before another could rest upon the ground to decay, he stabbed the metal chest. Oil seeped into the earth from the life-like machine keeping him prisoner.

Thank you everyone for the comment Anonymous (very interesting) -- I can't speak for the other BRGs but for me it's always little by little. My new approach is what they say to do in meditation:"not too tight, not too loose."

I think I used to spend a lot of time berating myself and either clutching and doing nothing or forcing things, neither works. "Not too tight, not too loose," trying and letting things come....or again as they say in meditation classes, "alert and curious, but relaxed."

And one more -- one teacher said to let your gaze lightly rest about eight (or was it three?) feet ahead:"Just let it rest, we're not studying the floor."

Hope this doesn't sound pretentious or preachy. I know I am a bit over-enthusiastic at times about the meditation videos on tricycle.comNot sure why Blogger is putting all this in italics.

Two teen-aged girls giggled in the van's back seat; their moms chatted in the front. Giggles flooded the dressing rooms in every store as they tried on many different outfits. Four stores, no clothes. Giggles continued on the ride home. It was a successful shopping day.

An evil darkness eclipsed the desert, so Caleb Grady stuffed the golden relic in between his vest and his heart. If all the stories were true, he’d be rich. Six more steps through the blazing sand, and he’d be home free. Lightning cracked. The statue survived. A dream died.

When Grandma flung back the fishing line, she never suspected the surprising catch of the day. Likewise, Hopper, her grandson who sculpted a fortified sand castle nearby, never imagined his own impending adventure. Backward out of the sky dropped the lure that pierced Hopper’s lip, Grandma’s greatest catch ever.

Feeling her soul slip its mortal tether, Sybil gazed past breaking waves. What if she just swam until exhaustion set her free? No. Back at the beach cottage, she gave her grandsons one last hug, lay on her bed and whispered, “See Ya;” her soul rising with the words.

Thanks for running the contest. Writing a story in 50 words is an excellent exercise. I'll have chocolate, please. Sarah

Feeling her soul slip its mortal tether, Sybil gazed past breaking waves. What if she just swam until exhaustion set her free? No. Back at the beach cottage, she gave her grandsons one last hug, lay on her bed and whispered, “See Ya;” her soul rising with the words.

Thanks for running the contest. It's a good exercise. SarahBTW, I take a book.

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